


Day 1 - Favourite Race

by WeeCoconutFlakes



Series: ScarletMoth D&December 2017 [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Elf, Gen, Half-Elf, Half-Elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 03:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeCoconutFlakes/pseuds/WeeCoconutFlakes





	Day 1 - Favourite Race

Tall and gangly, Lorson did not fit in with the still-youthful friends he’d had since childhood. They were small and gleeful; children of the forest. He’d grown too fast, and strange wisps of beard grew about his chin. Elders in the village gave him sideways glances, gossiping and shaming his mother. While his body was tall, his ears were short, and to everyone in the village, he was distinctly human. This ostracization, however, the way he was outcast, was not what bothered him the most. Everyone else seemed content to stay in the bounds of the forest village, but he was consumed with curiosity for the outside world. Wanderlust overtook him, and one night, he simply left. 

Sarien sat at the head of a table, an uneasy tension over the room. Terse stares cast from each side of the table were met with hard glares. After years of savage war, these two kingdoms, one elven, the other human, had finally met for a peace talk. Sarien, neither human nor elven, yet deeply embroiled in the conflict, acted as the perfect mediator to end this embittered rivalry. After hours of carefully chosen words and passionate speech, Sarien smiled as the two kings shook hands. She’d saved more lives that day than any warrior could claim. 

On a street corner, a performer tossed daggers about, letting them flash in the sun as he deftly maneuvered through the enamoured crowd. A well-trimmed beard and cocky smirk endeared him to the people as he made his complex show. Copper and silver pieces were tossed into his jar on the ground, but they were nothing compared to the fortune he picked from his audience’s pockets. Everyone’s luck turns at some point, however, and Rolen was a fan of pushing his. It was when he pulled a pouch off the belt of a particularly attentive guard that he found the tip of a sword against his chin. After a moment of planning, he twisted his daggers against the blade and dove away, scooping up his jar and scrambling up the nearest building. He waved jauntily to the crowd and skipped away across the city’s rooftops.


End file.
